A La Carte
by Artemesia
Summary: The Avengers invite Maria Hill out for dinner. Steve is a gentleman, Bruce has superior taste in ethnic food, Clint and Natasha eat as only Clint and Natasha can, Tony is the worst host ever, and Maria knows when to step it up to Defcon 1. Commentfic for avengersgen on LJ.


"I'll have the fettucini alfredo."

"No she won't. You can be original for once. We won't tell S.H.I.E.L.D."

Maria glared at Stark over the crease of her menu. "Excuse me?"

"You're at one of the best Italian places in the City, which has been here since Steve was a 98-pound weakling, and you're ordering fettucini alfredo." Tony rolled his eyes. "Pitiful. It's fantastic, don't get me wrong, but really."

The leftover Thai food in her fridge was sounding better and better each second. "Fine. I'll have the eggplant parmes-"

"Nh-nh."

"Why don't you just tell me what to order, Stark?"

"It's the 21st century. Why would I do that?"

Maria scanned furiously down the menu, stabbing at the first dish that looked like it wouldn't raise Stark's disapproval. "Chicken piccata."

"Excellent choice," Stark said with his smug little smile.

"Would the lady like anything to drink?" The waiter gave her a subtle wink, his gaze settling on the pricier range of the wine list.

"I'll have a Pinot Grigio. The most expensive one. And leave the bottle."

The chicken piccata had been wonderful, the meat melting in her mouth, the sauce light and buttery, capers exploding with pops of salt and slight tang.

Pity Maria only got a few bites of it.

Evidently eating with the Avengers was eating family-style. Tony, of course, had simply leaned over and speared a smaller chicken breast, and helped herself to a sip of her wine. Natasha, Clint, and Steve at least had the courtesy to ask.

Steve leaned over as he slid a healthy helping of some sort of steaming seafood dish on her plate. "I sometimes think Thor probably has more table manners than Tony."

Maria rolled her eyes and speared a bit of the fish on her fork; it was flaky and melted in her mouth, the somewhat spicy sauce rolling on her tongue. "Oh. Oh, this is fantastic!'

Steve smiled that unassuming little grin as he beckoned for her plate again. "Let's make sure you get enough to eat." Maria watched her plate join the steady dance of plates around the table, food shuffled on and off with an almost hypnotizing rhythm. Bruce was all polite nods and smiles, Tony agressive leans and subtle poaching, Clint and Natasha almost unconscious awareness of hands and cutlery and bites purloined from both their plates.

Maria blink as her now full plate - with a half-breast swimming in sauce still intact - came back to her. "Do you guys always do this?"

"Not always," Bruce said, dabbing his lips with a napkin. "Sometimes we do Indian. Not enough, but we do."

"That's not what I-" Maria laughed and leaned back in her chair, sipping at the wine that cost more than her daily pay. She didn't think any of them could give her an answer, and maybe that was all the answer she needed.

Food was eaten, wine was drunk, laughs were had, even by her. Maria would blame the wine, not Stark. The waiter came around, and though she usually never said yes to dessert, Maria ordered the flourless chocolate cake.

Nothing should be this good, Maria thought, as her willpower and her bones melted into the chair. She wanted to close her eyes in bliss, but her honed instincts told her to stay alert. The same instincts that clamped her hand around Stark's wrist as he came in for his supposed due.

"Stark, so help me God, if you touch my cake, I will have you scrubbing latrines on the helicarrier."

"Oh, I don't think-"

"No, you don't think. I know you think you're above our little chain of command, but I think I know who you will listen to." She fished out her mobile and pulled up her contacts list. Scrolled to 'P' and showed it to Stark.

"You wouldn't."

"Take a bite and watch me."

Tony watched her a minute more, then pulled his hand back. Mariah smiled in triumph; Bruce and Natasha raised their glasses. Clint had probably never looked at her with more respect, or trepidation.

Steve chuckled into his fist. Maria leaned over to him. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh no. We never share dessert, no matter what he says." He raised his coffee mug, and she toasted it with her wine glass. "So, do you like Indian food?"


End file.
